Like lambs to the slaughter
they stumble on, signs aloft,
shouting for collaberation -
believing they can cause
change to the valleys,
to the fields, the sea, the beaches,
the cities, the climate...
change to the flack chuckers.
But the flack chuckers laugh
inwardly like demented demons,
for they have found bliss
with gold flecked bath bombs,
and dosh stuffed mattresses,
Lamborghinis, Mayfair pads, et al.
In truth, you know, there is shit
At both ends of the rainbow,
just more at the toiling end
than the other sparkly one.
But both ends have shit
of one kind or another
nonetheless.

© Griffonner 2026